The Art of Art
by Szuri
Summary: Elfling Legolas does something so scary, so horrifyingly gut-wrenching, not even the guards of Greenwood want to deal with it...
1. Berries, Sap and other Forest Things

I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters. I do, however, own Éol. Enjoy!

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"Look what I did!"

Coming from the mouth of a child, those words can mean two very, very different things with two very, very different results. One can be translated to "look at this menagerie of Elmer's glue and macaroni and glitter that I smeared all over a piece of construction paper that you'll compliment no matter how god-awful it looks!".

The other option which is far less desirable, can roughly be translated to "Look at this menagerie of Elmer's glue and macaroni and glitter that I smeared all over your carpets, walls and precious personal belongings!". That option is not beneficial for either party involved.

This exact situation happened to the one-and-only elf of the Fellowship, whose kindness and skills with a bow were unmatched. Yes, you guessed it. This exact situation happened to Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of the Woodland Realm.

Of course, there wasn't any Elmer's glue, or dried pasta, or glitter, involved. And, of course, this happened long before our elf friend embarked on the journey of a lifetime to help save Middle-earth. This happened a few hundred years ago, when Legolas was nothing more than a mere elfling under the care of his father, Thranduil. This happened when Legolas's mind was filled only with hopes and plans for when he was going to be a "big elf" (as Legolas once called it. But according to Thranduil, the only way to become a big-elf is to eat all the vegetables on his dinner plates, no matter how mysterious and smelly they were).

To this day, Legolas denies all statements made about the situation and will most likely hide away in the forests of Greenwood. Thranduil will simply avoid the topic at all costs and claim that he has "kingly duties" to tend to. But fear not! I will tell you everything.

-The Palace of Greenwood the Great, 1,500 years ago-

The small pitter-patter of small feet echoed through the halls of the Elvenking. No, these were no dwarves, goblins or any other strange tiny creatures. These were the innocent feet of the young elfling Legolas, just under 500 years old.

Palace guards carefully watched the elfling prince run back and forth, up and down, the halls, observing the happy little smile on the prince's face, and the abundance of strange materials in his hands. Blackberries, mud, leaves and other "outdoorsy" things were being transported into the palace by small hands with an unknown purpose.

_pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter..._ Blackberries.

_pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, the sound of a particular blond-haired elfing tripping, pitter patter, pitter patter..._ A handful of wormy mud.

_pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter..._ Tree sap.

_pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter..._ A few wild strawberries from the gardens.

Assuming that the child was probably "baking" more horrid mud pies that Thranduil would have to choke down with a painfully fake smile, the guards thought little of Legolas's actions. But when the loud crashing and banging echoed through the narrow hallways instead of the repetitious sound of elfling's feet, a guard named Éol went to check to see what the little one was up to.

"My prince," he called, "Are you well?"

Surprisingly, the young voice that called back was sounding unharmed. "I am well, Éol! Come, see what I am making!"

The young guard wasn't sure what to expect. What was to be expected from a mischievous princeling? He cautiously peered over the hall's bend, and took a good look at the creation.

His eyes immediately widened at the... horror. Yes, horror. That was the best way to describe it. Éol's already milky white skin turned even more sickly pale at the treacherous abomination that the elfling simply called "artwork".

With his jaw mouth wide open, all he could do was lightly nod at the smiling prince and walk away as fast as he could.

Looking as if he'd just witnessed a gruesome murder take place, he awkwardly stood in his designated post in the hall. His fellow elves saw how he stood frozen in time and space, and asked him what happened.

Éol remained staring at the floor, but managed to say in a grim voice, "We are going to be banished from Greenwood for the rest of our immortal lives, if we are permitted to keep them that is..."

The elven guards tilted their heads in confusion. "What did you see, Éol?" they anxiously asked. "What happened?"

All Éol could do was point a trembling finger at the corridor from which he came- the corridor that Legolas lurked in.

The rest of the guards expected to see a group of spiders; perhaps a pack of orcs. Maybe, just maybe, a Balrog crept up from the black abyss and made its way into the very palace of Greenwood.

But what they saw was much worse.

Much, much worse.

More horrifying than any other creature in Middle-earth. They witnessed a horror so gruesome, so spine-tingling, that they'd rather face the wrath of 1,000 balrogs than deal with the situation.

They saw the "art" of an elven prince.

"Isn't it lovely?!" Legolas cheered.

The guards looked at each other slowly.

One of them finally found the guts to speak up. "Who is going to tell the king about this?"

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Ooooooo, what did Legolas do?

Review, if you don't mind!


	2. Kings and Things

Wow! Thanks for all the good reviews, guys. Keep em coming!

I'd like to thank you guys for helping me out with the age thing. I researched elf ages, but I couldn't find anything definite, so I just kinda winged it. I guess that was my fault. But I'll definitely remember your advice for future reference!

But, yes, Legolas would be about 5 in human years here :)

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"Who is going to tell the king about this?"

All of them simultaneously looked at their own feet, uncomfortably shifting around. To tell the king would result in death, destruction, certain calamities of mass proportions and the epitome of all that is unholy.

And to not tell the king would also result in death, destruction, certain calamities of mass proportions and the epitome of all that is unholy.

Situations like these are the worst of all predicaments. There is no "right thing" to do, as both options will result in the same horrific way.

The awkward silence was broken with the sound of more squishing and banging sounds, as well as innocent laughter from the prince. Whatever monstrosity Legolas was cooking up, it was getting worse. And it was only funny for the creator himself.

"Oh, I will tell the king..." Éol finally declared.

As he made his way down the long corridors of the palace, Éol heard the quiet mumblings of his fellow guards' blessings. They all seemed to wish the grace of Elbereth herself onto him.

The palace of Greenwood was a rather large one, filled with many hidden chambers and entwining halls that were always carefully monitored for any signs of spiders, orcs and sometimes a little elfling notorious for not going to bed when told to. As Éol made his way through the underground passages, he thought about the best way to word this little tale, and all of the possible consequences.

Doom.

Death.

Extreme pain.

Total annihilation.

Éol finally reached the large wooden door that led to Thranduil's main hall, where he sat upon his grand throne of wood. After clearing his throat for a good long while, the elf knocked on the door. The knocking ricocheted around the hall, echoing for all of the palace to hear. "It is I, Éol, my king!" he called, "Permission to enter?"

A rather authoritative voice, but still a calm one, called back. "Permission granted; please come in."

The guard gave a rather large shove to open the solid oak doors, revealing the throne room. Most of the room was wood with elaborate carvings and patterns, but there were also sparkling gems encrusted into some of the structure. This was definitely the halls of a forest king if there ever was one.

Éol gave a respectful bow to the Elvenking who lounged in his throne, and briefly studied his face. Thranduil definitely didn't seem as if he were in a bad mood. In fact, he seemed rather content. Perhaps it was because he was not being begged to scarf down a grimey mud pie.

Is it better to approach a happy king with bad news and ruin is day, or approach an angry king with bad news to worsen his day? Éol wondered.

"My king," he began, "there is something you should... tend to..."

Thranduil furrowed his brow. It was very unusual for a request so suddenly in the meeting. "And what would that be?"

"Well... er..."

"Yes?"

"It's Lego- the prince. It's the prince. He's... he's done a... uh... he's done a thing. Yes. A thing. The prince has done a thing." Éol stammered.

"A thing."

"Yes, my king."

"And what 'thing' has my son done that is so very important?"

"There's no easy way to put this..."

"No matter. Say what you must say now."

"He.. got a little creative.. and... he... he did a thing."

The king squinted his eyes. "Éol, if you are going to spit out nothing but gibberish and waste my time, I'd suggest you leave before you spoil a pleasant evening."

"Please, my king, you must.. you must see to this matter immediately. Words alone cannot describe such a... thing," Éol begged.

Seeing that perhaps Éol wasn't totally out of his mind, Thranduil decided to humor him.

"Very well, Éol. Guide me to the site of this "thing" of yours. I've been wanting to spend some time with Legolas, anyway," the Elvenking sighed, approaching the much shorter elf.

And so, they went through the twisting halls, past all of the grand portraits and statues, and back to the group of the guards.

The guards all gave painfully awkward greeting bows, all out of sync and choppy, making Thranduil even more confused as to what was oh-so-horrible, and why they wouldn't do anything about it.

"You fools! Why are you looking so mortified? Is this not a situation that you can handle? If this is about Legolas... he's just a little one. Unless my son has transformed into an entire orc-army, this should have easily been taken care of," Thranduil scolded. Honestly, what kind of guards had he hired if they cannot control an elfling?!

All they did was softly whisper "My king..."

"Oh, nevermind. Just tell me where this 'thing' is, and I'll see that it is fixed."

"'Tis in that corridor, my king," Éol sadly said, "I wish you and your son the best of luck."

And with that, Thranduil approached the corridor in which untold evils of the worst of all sins lurked in the shadows of his very palace.

"Legolas, my son, whatever are you up to?" he called, using that gentle voice he only seemed to use when speaking to the elfling.

"I am making art, father! Please come see!" Legolas called. He sounded as blithe and merry as ever.

Oh please, Thranduil thought. They have caused such a big scene over an elfling's craftwork? Why, I would have more success than using nannies as guards than soldiers!

After deeply considering that idea for a few seconds, Thranduil shook it off and entered the accursed corridor.

But what he saw was not art.

No, it was more than just art.

This was ghastly. Despicable. Unthinkable for an elf.

This was pure dread. Dread on canvas.

Thranduil's long life flashed before his eyes. The words of his death would be "Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm: death by elfling's artwork".

He looked down from the monstrosity, and down at the small prince before him.

"Ai, Legolas..." the king said, his voice full of despair, "what have you done?"

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Ha! Another cliffhanger. I'll definitely tell what happened in the next (and probably) final chapter. I've just been having so much fun writing this, I didn't want it to be a one-shot!

As usual, please review if you have a minute!


	3. Beards, Bras and Berries

"Ai, Legolas... What have you done?"

Thranduil was unsure whether he should be focussing on the colorful miscreation on the wall, or on his son, who seemed so pleased with his own actions.

"I made art! This part of the palace is so boring... It needs color," Legolas reasoned. He looked up at his father, who did not look very pleased about this wonderful idea of his.

The king ran his slender fingers through his own hair, feeling his blood pressure begin to skyrocket. "No, Legolas, no... You can't just... My son, why did you.. What _is_ this?!"

No elf, dwarf or man in Middle-earth could have given an exact explanation for this, that's for sure. No one except for Legolas.

"I based it off of the story you read me yesterday! The one with the... um... habbitses? Hollabotters? Hoebitters?" Legolas struggled to pronounce the name of the halflings.

"Hobbits," Thranduil corrected with gritted teeth.

"Yes, hobbits! I based this off of the hobbits from the Sherbet-"

"The Shire."

"Yes, thank you father! The Shire! Hobbits from the Shire, and dragons, and wizzles and warts!"

"Wizards and wargs, son."

"Yes, wizards and wargs!" Legolas exclaimed, amazed at how smart his father was.

The elfling did tell the truth. The previous night, Thranduil read a story to Legolas. One that explained all of the funny creatures of Middle-earth, including the Hollabotters of the Sherbet and wizzles and warts.

And, of course, the art definitely showed all of the silly creatures. This would have been fine and well, if it weren't for the fact that is was colored on the grandest portrait in the whole palace.

Thranduil's portrait.

"Oh Valar..."

The intricately-done painting that proudly hung on the wall was now covered in little doodles done by small hands, including paints made from crushed berries and various shades of brown mud.

"Legolas, my son... please... please tell me why you have added horns on my head..."

Legolas smiled, pleased that his father saw the rather devil-like horns on his head. "You said that dragons have big horns on their big heads!"

Thranduil looked closer, and realized that the horns were painted with the liquid remnants of crushed strawberry. "But why did you draw them on me?!"

"You look neater with horns!"

The Elvenking groaned. It would take hours of scrubbing to get that off.

"And I looked through that one book with the women in it, and I found out that human ladies wear things on their chest, so I gave you one!"

Thranduil didn't even dare look at the chest. Instead, his eyes widened and his cheeks were now changing to a blushing pink color. "I said you were not to open that book!"

"I forgot," Legolas excused. "And look, father! I even gave you furry feet!"

Furry.. feet?

Yes, furry feet. Thranduil looked at the part of the painting where his feet would be, and saw that tufts of grass decorated the tops of his boots. And what was keeping the grass in place? Tree sap.

And everyone knows that tree sap cannot be removed from anything without tearing what it was sticking to.

"Why furry feet?! Do I have furry feet? Do any elves have furry feet?!" Thranduil exasperatedly demanded.

"Well, no. But the idea of hobbititits having fuzzy feet was so silly, I wanted to see what it would look like on an elf..." Legolas's voice grew meeker, seeing that maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

Thranduil's face only grew more upset the harder he looked. The use of red leaves made it look as if he were breathing fire, like the dragon. His normal crown that was on his head was now totally covered with ink made from blackberries. Instead of the crown, a triangle was present. Perhaps this was a wizards hat?

And was that a _dwarf beard?!_

Just when things couldn't get any worse, Thranduil looked down at his child again, only to find that his hands and robe were filled with berry stains and unidentified sticky substances. A mess, he was.

It also seemed as if the berry juices squirted onto the walls of the palace. There was no way that stain was going to be coming out.

The king groaned again, slumping onto the floor, which was a rather undignified move for such a high elf to do. "Legolas... why do you do this to me?"

"Father?"

_Come on Thrandy, don't get too mad, he thought to himself._

"Father, are you angry with me?"

_Don't yell at him. Don't yell at him. Don't yell at him._

"I'm sorry if you are angry at me..."

A child is a child, no matter what race. Even elflings can wreck havoc when they don't mean to. Looking back, Thranduil thought of a few occasions in which he did absolutely ridiculous, non-elflike things. For example, he almost brought the downfall of Greenwood when he almost shot Oropher in the backside while learning the art of archery.

Or when he caused a fire in the palace kitchen when he burned some lembas.

Or when he burped while reciting his coronation vows and couldn't stop laughing.

Things definitely could have been worse on Legolas's part.

"I'm sorry..." Legolas mumbled, his eyes already watering.

Thranduil didn't even deliver the dreaded stern-talking-to-of-fatherly-disapproval, and Legolas was already starting to cry. It wouldn't make much sense to scold one who was already in tears, now would it? And it was hard to see Legolas this way.

"Now, Legolas, don't cry, come on, please, oh, don't cry," Thranduil coaxed. Why was comforting children such a difficult concept to master?

Thranduil quickly reached out and wiped away a tear with his thumb. Tears were such pesky things. "I am not mad at you. I'm just mad at your choice of actions. Why would you even..." Thranduil trailed off. That probably wasn't the best thing to say. "Oh, never mind," he sighed. "I'm at a loss of words, so let's just forget this whole thing ever happened."

The prince gave a relieved nod. A day will come when those dreaded stern-talking-to's-of-fatherly-disapproval are given, but it is not this day.

"Now I'd like you to wash up, and go elsewhere and paint something- with actual paint, on a piece of paper. Am I clear?" the king instructed.

"Yes, father. Very clear."

Then the prince bolted away, eager to escape potential paternal wrath that could emerge out of the ashes if Thranduil changed his mind. Unlikely, but still possible.

Thranduil looked at the mess of a once-great painting and shook his head._ Children,_ he thought.

"Éol," he called, "please see that this creation is dealt with. You may do whatever you wish to it, though I'd be delighted to hear that fire was involved. I just do not want to lay eyes on it again!"

Out came Éol, who was simply amazed that the king did not totally go up in flames, or turn into an orc, or any other horrible method of near-destruction. "Yes, my king."

Now, in case you were wondering whatever happened to that old painting, I will simply tell you that it did not meet its demise yet.

It was not torched, nor was it used as target practice. No, that old painting is currently secretly residing in the darkest corner of the palace storage room, neatly wrapped up in a tattered old linen. Perhaps Éol will hang it up again someday, in a few thousand years.

But _that_ would definitely bring death and destruction. He was sure of it.

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Finally finished!

This was such a fun thing to write. I do hope you liked it!

Hm... do you think Éol will hang it up again?

I think I'll consider writing more misadventures with elfling Legolas and Thranduil. They're just so cute!

Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a chance?


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